Wanted
by I.Call.Him.Billy.S
Summary: "You're making it worse, Frank." "You're driving me crazy, Joe" "Would both of you shut up?" Meet Jemma Hardy, the other mystery solver
1. Chapter 1

**A/N- I always think of something unique thought for every book I read. For the Hardy Brothers books, I always think of a twin sister for Joe. Sometimes, I even think of myself as the younger sister for them. It was fun. Well, I happened to be reading through all my hardy Boys books (the newer books, not the ones from the 70s, 80s, and 90s). So, here's my idea for the Super Mystery (and my all time favorite Hardy Boys mystery) Wanted. You should read it before reading mine to find the contrasts, but you will understand if you don't. So, here's the full summary:**

**When Frank was a year old, he thought that he would get a little brother. Instead, he got a little brother and a sister. The siblings all grew up well and, when Frank was 15 and the twins were 14, they were introduced to ATAC (American Teens Against Crime). They didn't start missions until a year later, when they finished their training. So, after 2 years of doing missions together, as a great team, they thought that they would be prepared for anything. But they weren't. **

**One day, Frank, Joe, and Jemma were trying to catch two thugs. They had been captured because they asked too many questions and they escaped. But when they got home (and raked the lawn) they received a package from ATAC, telling them that someone was impersonating them. All three of them. **

**As my disclaimer for the whole book, cause I want this story to look pretty (XD): I only own Jemma (who actually, in real life, happens to be my best friend, so I don't really own her either). I do not own, nor am I making a profit off of anything. **

Prologue:

It was the perfect day for a bank robbery.

The weatherman had predicted rain and, for once, he was right. The sky was filled with dark gray storm clouds. A rumble of thunder shook the ground, and a sudden downpour drove everyone from the streets.

That meant fewer witnesses.

Perfect.

Two boys and a girl stood on the sidewalk in the rain, watching and waiting.

The youngest, a teenage boy, yawned. "Why are we doing this so early? I'm still half asleep."

His blonde haired sister sighed. "Because people cash their paychecks every Friday at lunch hour. So the tellers fill their drawers with extra money in the morning."

"How do you know?"

"I'm the smart twin, remember?"

"Yeah, right." The blonde boy rubbed his eyes. "I just want to go back to bed."

Their older brother turned to glare at the blonde boy he sometimes hated to call his brother. "Well too bad. We've been planning this for weeks. You can't wimp out now."

They turned and gazed through the huge plate-glass window of the bank. It was almost empty inside – except for the couple of older ladies waiting in line.

"Now's our chance," said the dark hired brother. "Let's go!"

They pulled the hoods of their windbreakers over their heads and entered the front door of the bank. An overweight bank guard leaned back in a chair, snoring loudly.

The siblings ignored him and marched straight up to the front of the bank line.

"Excuse me, young lady," said one of the older women in line, tapping the blonde girl on the shoulder. "We were here first."

"Get over it, Grandma. We're in a hurry," the younger girl snapped back.

The teller behind the window looked up at the brothers and sister. She had curly red hair, think glasses – and a puzzled look on her face. "Um, could I help you?" she asked.

The dark haired teen reached into his pocket and pulled out a note. Quickly unfolding it, he slipped it beneath the glass window.

The teller glanced down to read the message. "Oh, my," she muttered. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

They had expected a reaction like this.

The note said: "Empty your cash drawer into a bag and no one will get hurt."

The younger girl leaned toward the window and lowered her voice. "Don't even think about pushing the alarm button, either."

The teller bit her lip and started trembling.

"Don't mess it up, lady," the younger boy added. "Just give us the money."

The red-haired woman nodded nervously and opened her cash drawer. With shaky hands, she began stuffing wads of cash into a zippered bag.

"That's it," said the older boy. "Just fill up the bag. And don't try anything funny."

The teller emptied the entire cash drawer into the bag, then zipped it up.

"Now, slide it under the window," the girl said.

The woman took a deep breath and pushed the bag through the slot. The older brother grabbed it and smiled. "Thanks, Ma'am," he said. "It was nice doing business with you."

They turned and started walking out of the bank.

That's when the red-haired teller pushed the alarm button.

_RRRINNNNG!_

The sleeping guard almost fell out of his chair. He rubbed his eyes and looked up.

"Stop them!" the teller shrieked. "They just robbed the bank!"

The security guard reached for his gun.

"Freeze!" the older boy shouted. "Get down on the ground or we'll blow the place up!"

"Yeah!" said the younger boy. "We're wired with explosives!"

The guard dropped his arm away from the gun. Slowly, he lowered himself down on the floor. The two older women in line gasped.

"You too, ladies!" the younger girl yelled. "Get down!"

The women in line squealed and squatted down, covering their faces.

"Don't move until we're gone," said the younger girl. 'Start counting to five hundred."

The guard and the women started counting.

The older boy looked at his twin siblings. "C'mon," he said. "Joe, Jemma, let's get out of here."

"I'm right behind you, Frank."

"Same here."

The siblings ran out of the bank and into the rain.

Chapter 1- Jemma

Have you ever been tied up with two total idiots, both of them being your brothers? And them both fighting about why we got caught? Well, if you have, you know how I feel.

"Don't say it," Frank was saying. "I mean it. Don't say anything."

My twin brother, Joe Hardy, wisely clamped his mouth shut. I could tell easily, though, that he was close to cracking.

Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. "I told ya so," he snickered.

Frank shot him an evil glare from where he was tied up. "Okay, you said it. Now, how do we get out of this?"

Frank started wriggling around, but the ropes only seemed to tighten more.

"You're making it worse, Frank."

"You're driving me crazy, Joe."

I spoke up for the first time since being captured. "Well, Joe can help me dig my knife out of my boot while you sit there and mope like a little girl," I explained sarcastically.

They both turned to stare at me strangely. "You had your knife in your shoe the whole time and you didn't tell us?"

"Yeah," I said. "But you two were too busy fighting to ask me if I kept something, which is always on my person, mind you, in my boot that could help us escape. Didn't I tell you that's the reason I was stopped at airport security when we were going to LA? I had forgotten to take the knife out of my boot before going through the metal detector." They were still looking at me strangely.

"If one of you would take my boot off, I could turn and pick it up and start untying us. But, since people happen to like typing my hands to my belt loops, I can't do it."

Joe started wriggling toward my feet and used one hand to pull my boot off. At one point, though, it felt like her was trying to pull my foot off with the boot. "Ouch, watch it. There's something inside that thing called a foot. That foot happens to be connected to an ankle, which is part of a leg, which is part of my body." I felt Joe slap at my leg with his other hand after my boot was off. He picked up the knife and stuck it in my hand.

I worked at the ropes as quickly as I could. I winced painfully when I accidently slid the knife at my thumb and I felt the skin on my knuckles open and sand got into the open wound.

"You okay?" Frank asked when I dropped the knife.

I looked at him and, through clenched teeth, said, "Yeah. Joe, hand me my knife again."

Joe reached back and placed the sharp implement back in my hand. It stung my whole hand to clench the knife, but I did it anyway. Finally, my hands were freed. Once my hands were back in front of me, I saw that the cut on my hand wasn't too bad, but it wasn't going to be easy to explain to Mom and Aunt Trudy how I got three or four stitches on my hand. Either way, it hurt.

I worked the knife back and forth at my ankles before slicing my brothers' ropes away. They both stood up and we looked around. I looked toward the beach.

"There! That's them!" I yelled, pointing. Down in the sand were the four thugs that had tied us up. Beside them was a yellow jeep, perfect for the sandy ground. My gaze landed on another vehicle, about thirty feet away from the bad guys.

"Well, let's go jack a dune buggy and play chicken!" Okay, okay hold up. That is not really what Joe said. What he really said was, "Well, let's go stop them!" But the first was what I _heard_. Joe was not a total idiot, but he did have only about a quarter of the brains out of him and me.

I rolled my eyes at my total dweebish brothers as I scurried down the sand and onto the actual beach. Frank and Joe were already running after the thugs, who were charging toward their dune buggy. I looked around again, trying to find the yellow jeep.

I walked over to one of the guys near it. "Hey, buddy. Mind if I borrow your jeep? My brothers are the ones that are way over there and trying to get pulverized by those beach thugs."

The blonde guy I was talking too nodded quickly and handed over a key.

I gave him my sweetest, innocent smile. "Thanks!"

I jumped into the dune buggy and started the engine. It purred to life and I took off as fast as I could go. Skidding to a stop next to my idiotic brothers, I shouted, "Get in and buckle up!"

They stared at me in shock but jumped into the vehicle.

I saw the thugs hop into their green dune buggy and start it up. Before I could even blink, they were halfway across the beach. Then, suddenly, they stopped and turned around. The buggy growled almost.

My eyes lit up with happiness. "They wanna play chicken!" Okay, I admit, Joe didn't say that or jack the dune buggy, I did. But if it were any other situation, that would have been him.

I revved the engine a few times, sizing up our opponents. "No!" Frank yelled from the backseat. "No! They'll crush us!"

Joe and I shrugged simultaneously. "Who cares?" I asked.

Joe finished what I was saying. "It's fun!"

Frank shook his head sadly and said, "Why did it have to be twins? And why'd one of them have to be a smart aleck girl?"

I was smiled as I revved the engine once more before taking off. The other jeep charged at us also.

Fifty feet... Forty feet... Thirty feet...

"Jemma! Turn!" Frank was shouting.

"Not yet!" I called back.

Twenty feet... Fifteen feet... Ten feet...

"TURN!"

"NOT YET!"

Nine feet...Six feet...five feet... Two feet...

I turned the wheel as hard as I could when we were only a foot apart. The bumpers hit each other and sparks flew into the air. We careened off of the other dune buggy and we started spinning.

I hit my head on the steering wheel, since the seatbelt just decided not to lock, but I didn't feel and blood.

When we finally stopped, I turned, carefully, to see the other buggy, upside down on a mound of sand.

Frank was moaning from the backseat. "I'll tell ATAC to bring the cops and an ambulance." He pulled out his phone and dialed the number for ATAC.

Maybe I should explain.

Frank, Joe, and I are undercover agents for ATAC – American Teens Against Crime. Our latest mission involved a quartet of beach-bum thieves who were stealing dirt bikes and dune buggies from the Off-Road Vehicle Park on the Jersey Shore. It was a pretty cool assignment. You could rent all sorts of vehicles by the hour and spend the day racing through the park's maze of trails, jumps, and sand dunes. The first day we were here, Frank, Joe, and I spotted the culprits – a shady looking group of long haired dudes with bandanas who always seemed to be lurking in the background.

Joe and I told Frank to lie low for a few days. But my stupid, older brother couldn't resist asking suspicious questions: "How often do you guys come here?" "What are the best trails?" "Which dirt bikes are the fastest?"

A few hours after that, the bandana dudes jumped us, tied us up, and dumped us along one of the bike trails in the woods.

"Come on," I told them, opening my door. 'Let's go find our bikes and get home. Dad can check out my hand when we get there." Oh yeah, I forgot to mention one more thing. Our dad was the founder of ATAC.

We walked along the trail for a while before coming to a three-way split in the path.

"The bikes are this way!" Frank was telling us.

"No, they're that way!" my twin argued vehemently.

I shook my heads at them and pointed until they turned to stare at me. "Our bikes are right there." I pointed behind a bush, where I could see the handle of one of our bike sticking out.

"Don't say it," they grumbled."

"Told ya so."

They hate it when I'm right.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Frank

My sister Jemma was pretty proud of herself.

In a single day, she had managed to cut through our ropes with a pocket knife, spin around a few times in a dune buggy, stop a pair of wanted criminals, and locate our hidden motorcycles.

Okay, fine.

But did she have to rub our noses in it?

"Who rocks?" she asked Joe and I as we stopped at a red light.

I rolled my eyes. 'You rock, Jemma," I said. "Now will you cut it out? We're almost home."

The light changed and we rode our motorcycles through downtown Bayport. When we reached the end of Main Street, I noticed a bunch of police cars in front of the local bank. One of the officers was questioning a woman with red hair and glasses.

Joe and Jemma turned to look at me.

I shrugged my shoulders and kept driving.

As we passed, the red-haired woman stopped talking. She adjusted her glasses and stared at us. The police officer turned and stared too.

_What are they looking at?_ I had a funny feeling in my gut. For a second, I understood what it must be like to stand in a suspect line at the police station.

_Weird._

Joe, Jemma, and I leaned forward on our motorcycles and headed for home. By the time we reached the driveway, it was almost three in the afternoon. Not bad. We had made excellent time.

But Mom and Aunt Trudy seemed to think differently.

"_Now_ you show up," said Aunt Trudy," when we're almost finished with the yard work. Mm-hmm."

She and Mom leaned on their garden rakes and looked at us.

"While you three were hanging out at the mall, we've been slaving away," said Mom. "What's up? You promised you would be back in ti- Jemma! What happened to your hand?"

I saw Jemma looked shocked the Mom had noticed the quickly but she covered it up quickly. "Oh, well, I, um, I tripped near that rock fountain in from of the mall and cut my hand. It's no big deal. I'm just going to go clean it up." _Please Mom, let her go clean it up herself. Don't choose now to be the overprotective mother._

Aunt Trudy was the one who answered. "Oh, go on already. Then you can help me make some lemonade for your brothers." Jemma was shooed inside while we took the rakes from Mom and Aunt Trudy.

"You boys finish raking the leaves up and put them in the garbage bags. We'll send out Jemma with the lemonade in a few minutes," Aunt Trudy told us.

Mom and Aunt Trudy went inside and I heard clanging in the kitchen.

"How'd the mission go?" Dad asked quietly while he was putting up the lawn mower.

"Great," I replied. "Jemma slit her hand while untying us, though."

"Yeah, and she won't let us forget she was the one who got us out of there."

"That's your little sister, though," Dad told us. "Believe me, someday, you won't mind her bragging or having her around. Mom and I will be gone. Then who will boss you around?"

Joe and I glanced at each other before looking back at Dad. "Aunt Trudy."

Dad laughed. "What if Aunt Trudy is gone too? Then the only woman in your life other than wives will be your sister. You'll appreciate having a baby sister some day."

Jemma poked her head out of the second story window. "You bet they will."

"How's the hand?" Dad asked her.

She stuck her hand out the window to show her palm wrapped up in white gauze. "Stings a bit, but I can handle it." She pulled her hand back inside. "I'll cover for you guys," she said. I didn't understand what she meant, but then I turned around. On the ground was a small package with a parachute tired to it. "Hand it here. Pretend like you're raking by the house. There are plenty of leaves over here." I did as she said. Dad went back inside.

Joe and I started raking. "Do you think that package had anything to do with why that lady was staring at us on our way home?" Joe asked me as we raked near the same place.

"Of course it does. Why else would it have arrived right after we got home? Something happened here this morning."

Joe picked up a handful of leaves and threw them at me. Then, I tackled him. We started rolling around in the grass and we knocked over three more piles of leaves.

"You're just gonna have to redo all that, you know?" Jemma's voice came from the porch. Looking at her upside down, I could tell that she had three cups in her hand and a pitcher of lemonade. "Well, are my two weirdo brothers going to have some lemonade or will I have to drink the whole thing myself?"

Joe and I scrambled to our feet and raced over to Jemma. She took a step back. "I'm thinking of a number between one and five?"

Joe, being the quickest one, said, "Four."

I smirked. "Three."

Jemma smiled. "Nice try Frank. It was five. Shouldn't you guys know my pattern by now?" She handed the full cup of lemonade to Joe and then poured me one before serving herself. "Need some help raking this back up?"

Joe and I nodded quickly. "Yes!"

Jemma laughed and walked to the garage to find another rake. Two hours later, we had finished raking, finished bagging, and finished two pitchers of lemonade. Jemma was currently making another one for when we opened the package from ATAC.

We went upstairs, took our showers, and took cover from Mom, Aunt Trudy, and Dad in my room. I closed the door and turned on my computer.

"Poop."

"What, Frank?" Joe asked.

"There's parrot poop all over my desk."

Joe laughed and reached up to stroke Playback, who sat on his perch just a few feet away.

"Playback!" Joe cooed. "Have you been a bad boy?"

Playback squawked back. "Bad boy! Bad boy! Bad boy!"

While Joe stroked Playback and Jemma tried to find somewhere to sit, I opened up the package. The first thing I saw was a folded up newspaper on top.

There was a large black and white photo of two boys and a girl standing inside a bank. The image was grainy and blurry. It looked like it had been taken with one of those security cameras.

And it definitely looked like a bank robbery in progress.

But that's not what shocked me.

What shocked me was that the robbers looked just like Joe, Jemma and me.

"What is it Frank?"

I took a deep breath. "We're in serious trouble, guys," I told them.

Playback started squawking. "Bad boys! Bad boys!"

_**LOCAL BANK ROBBED!**_

_**Teen thieves "graduate" to federal crime**_

_(Bayport County News) At eleven o'clock this morning, the Bayport Bank on Main Street was robbed by a pair of teenage boys and girl, possibly their sister. According to eyewitness descriptions, the boys appear to be the same criminals responsible for a recent series of convenience store thefts in the Bayport area. "The younger and younger girl were blonde and the older boy was dark-haired," said Rose Adams, the bank teller who emptied her cash drawer for the thieves. "They told us that they were wired with explosives." Shaken by the robbery, Ms. Adams informed local police that she overheard the culprits call each other by name. if you know any teenage boys or girls that fit this description, or who go by the names "Frank", "Joe", or "Jemma", please contact the nearest police station. WARNING: The suspects maybe armed and should be considered extremely dangerous._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Joe

I couldn't believe my eyes.

Three teenagers named _Frank_, _Joe_, and _Jemma_? _Wanted for bank robbery?_

"What's going on, Frank?" Jemma asked.

My brother shook his head. "I have no idea. For a second, I thought that we were in trouble for wrecking that dune buggy."

I scoffed. "That doesn't seem so bad now, does it?"

"Compared to bank robbery?" Jemma asked. "No."

I reached for the mission box. "What else is in here?"

Frank pulled out a few more newspaper clippings and started reading them. "They're articles about the convenience store robberies. All of them happened here in the Bayport area. And they were committed by two teenage boys and a teenage girl who look exactly like us."

"Oh, just lovely," Jemma said sarcastically.

"Now it's been reported that their names are Frank, Joe, and Jemma," said my brother, putting down the clippings. Jemma immediately snatched them up and scanned them. She really used that photographic memory of hers to the max sometimes. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"The cops are going to come after us?"

"Exactly. I wouldn't be surprised if they're on their way here right now."

Jemma put the clippings back into the box. "I guess we'd better hurry then."

I started digging further into the mission box and found three pairs of night vision goggles, a set of high powered binoculars, and a small electronic gadget with a screen and keyboard.

"What's this?" I asked.

Frank took the palm sized device and studied it carefully. "Oh, it's one of those wireless pocket communicators," he explained. "We can retrieve phone messages with it or receive e-mails no matter where we are."

"Even if we're running from the law?" Jemma asked. She was fiddling with the bandage around her hand.

Frank smirked. "Relax, Jem. We don't even know what's going on yet. Is there a mission CD in the box?"

I looked inside. A homemade CD lay on the bottom. "Yeah, here," I said, handing it to Frank.

My brother read the label. "Wanted."

I sighed. "It doesn't sound too good. Pop it in, Frank. Let's see how much trouble we're in this time."

My brother slid the disc into the computer and clicked play. A second or two later, the screen went blank.

"_They go by the names Frank, Joe, and Jemma,"_ a deep voice boomed over the speakers.

Newspaper headlines flashed across the screen, followed by grainy black and white photos of two teenage boys and a teenage girl.

"_And they're_ Wanted_,"_ said the voice.

The images froze. A trio of picture frames slammed down over the three blurred heads of the teens. There was a loud clank sound that sounded like a prison door slamming.

The word WANTED appeared in large block letters above the framed portraits.

"_No one knows their real identities,"_ the voice continued. _"They look like Hardys. They sound like Hardys. But they're doing things that the Hardys would _never_ do."_

The pictures faded. A neatly typed police bulletin rolled across the screen: a long list of local crimes.

"_Frank and Joe are Wanted for the following convenience store holdups: Blue Jay's Mini-Mart, May twenty-fifth. Burger Bob's, May thirtieth. Grocer's Corner, June fifth. Dolly's Deli, June ninth."_

"Wow, we've been busy," I muttered. Jemma was silent behind me as we stared at the screen.

Frank slapped my arm and turned back to the screen.

"_The teens are also suspected of several other crimes that, at this time, cannot be proven_," said the voice on the speaker.

A motorcycle repair garage appeared on screen. I recognized it at once. 'Hey! That's Mickey's place on the highway!"

Frank shushed me.

"_Three motorcycles vanished last month from Mickey's parking lot_," the voice explained. _"We believe the thieves stole them so that they could impersonate you."_

"Great," I said. "They have motorcycles, too."

The screen turned black again. Then a video image appeared. It looked like footage from one of the local TV stations. The camera was pointed at Bayport Bank on Main Street. A crowd of police officers surrounded several witnesses.

I recognized the red-haired lady from this morning.

"Look, Frank! There's that woman who kept staring at us when we drove down Main Street."

Frank nodded. "Now we know why. She thought that we were the robbers, revisiting the scene of the crime."

I turned to glance at Jemma and saw her staring intently at the screen. Her eyes were narrowed into slits and her mouth was squashed into a line. She was glaring at our impersonators.

The voice on the speakers described the bank robbery in detail. _"There were four witnesses: two older women waiting in line at the bank, the teller herself, and a bank guard who seemed to be sleeping through most of the robbery."_

"At least he won't describe us to the cops," I said.

"Yeah. We did that ourselves," Jemma muttered.

A second later the guard proved me wrong. _"I think they used motorcycles,"_ he told a reporter. _"I heard engines starting."_

I slumped back in my chair. "We're sunk."

"Shhh!"

"_Robbing a bank is a federal crime,"_ the voice went on. _"Police from coast to coast will be on the lookout for a group of teenagers by the names of Frank, Joe, and Jemma."_

"Who ride motorcycles," I added.

The TV news reports faded away.

"_Of course, American Teens Against Crimes realizes that you three are being framed,"_ the voice continued. _"At this very moment, our agents are investigating the matter, scanning the area for clues and suspects."_

A map filled the screen. Tiny dots lit up the Northeast coast.

"_Until we learn more, we want you three to lie low,"_ said the voice. _"Find a hiding place and stay there until further notice. Do not, I repeat, do not try to investigate this case on your own." _

I glanced at Frank. His face was locked in a frown. Jemma was still glaring at the screen.

"_This is a very serious matter kids. Somebody obviously knows who you are. They may even know what you do for the ATAC team. It may be the result of a security leak and we don't want to take any chances."_

Playback the parrot ruffled his feathers. His sudden movement startled me.

"Bad boys!" he squawked.

"Playback, quiet!" Frank hissed, stroking his wing.

How could he be so calm?

We were WANTED!

The voice continued. _"Frank, Joe, Jemma, this is not an assignment, this is a warning. Leave your house immediately. Find a place to hide. And do not contact us with your cell phone. Use the pocket communicator we gave you. We will be sending you daily e-mails to update you on the situation."_

Frank picked up the wireless device and nodded.

"_Trust no one,"_ the voice went on. _"Not your friends, not your family, except for your father, who will understand when you escape. Keep your eyes and ear open at all times."_

I glanced at Frank and Jemma.

"_Above all, remember one thing,"_ said the voice. _"Frank, Joe, and Jemma Hardy are_ WANTED."

A flashing red light flickered behind our photos.

"_This disc will reformat itself in five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One."_

The screen went blank. A loud rock song blared from the speakers – "Wanted Dead or Alive."

Frank leaned forward in his chair and turned off his computer. Then he sat back in his chair and looked at me and Jemma.

"Start packing," he said. "We have to get out of here. Now."

I stood up and Jemma followed my lead. "Where are we going to go?"

Frank shrugged. It was Jemma who spoke up. "How about Dad's old fishing cabin in the mountains? We haven't been there in years."

"Yeah," I said, "Not since you got poison oak."

Jemma glared at me. "Hurry up. Go pack a bag. We might be gone for a while."

Jemma and I headed out the door, but I stopped. "Frank?"

"Yes?"

"What's going on? Why would someone want to frame us?"

Frank looked at me. "Maybe they're getting revenge. We've put a lot of people behind bars, Joe."

"Yeah, but who?"

Frank held up his hands. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"Maybe it's the bandana dudes."

My brother laughed. "They're not smart enough to rob a bank. And which one of them would be impersonating Jemma?"

I ran back to my room to grab my backpack. While I was throwing in extra pairs of socks and underwear, I noticed that my cell phone was ringing.

I had a call.

I was about to push a button on the phone when I remembered something: This could be dangerous.

I shoved my phone into my backpack without answering and zipped it up. I ran into Jemma, literally, on my way back to Frank's room. I noticed that she had two backpacks with her.

"What's with the second pack?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "One has clothes in it, the other has gadgets and things we might need to survive. Like PopTarts and Twix," she said, grinning cheekily at me. Sometimes, I was glad to have a sister who hid food in her room like a squirrel getting ready for winter.

Frank was almost done packing. 'Do you have room in your bag for the night vision goggles?" he asked Jemma.

She nodded and put the goggles in her gadget backpack. I saw something made of paper start to stick out, but she quickly shoved it back under the material of the backpack.

"Ready?

"Ready."

"Ready."

We opened Frank's door and stepped into the hallway. Quietly, we crept to the top of the stairs – and then the doorbell rang.

We froze.

I glanced at Frank and then back at Jemma.

"I'll get it!" Aunt Trudy shouted room the dining room below.

We peered over the railing and watched Aunt Trudy open the door.

"Can I help you?"

Two police officers stood in the doorway. "Hello, Ma'am," said one of them.

Mom and Dad walked into the foyer.

"What's going on?" asked Mom. "Is there something wrong?"

Dad took a step forward. "John, Bill," he said, extending his hand. "How are you guys doing?"

The officers shook his hand. "We're doing fine, Fenton," said the taller cop.

"Did you want to talk to me?" Dad asked.

The officers looked a little nervous. One of them glanced down at the floor while the other spoke.

"Actually, Fenton, we're looking for Frank, Joe, and Jemma," he said.

"Frank, Joe and, Jemma?" Dad repeated.

Mom let out a little gasp. "Are they in some sort of trouble?"

The taller police officer cleared his throat. "We're not sure, ma'am," he said. "We'd like to take them down to the police station for questioning."


End file.
